Gina: No, that’s too creepy, like I’m the first of my kind, some alien-assembled lookalike.

Herald: That is creepy. I don’t know why I chose that name, I swear. But if you’re a fake human, they did a really good job.

Gina: I don’t know how to respond to that.

Herald: How long have you been awake?

Gina: I don’t know. Not long. Why?

Herald: I just wondered if you watched them do things to me.

Gina: There was nothing to see; we were alone.

Herald: You look familiar. Have we met before?

Gina: I don’t think so.

Herald: Maybe not in the “real” world, just here, like we’re a “couple” to them who they always experiment on together.

Gina: Why would you think that?

Herald: It makes sense. I don’t remember being allowed to talk to someone before, another person I mean. Do you think this is on purpose, an experiment to see what we do?

Gina: They’re not that clever. Always digging around inside us like they lost a contact in there.

Herald: Maybe their anesthesia wore off. Or we have an increased tolerance to the process they use to put us under because they’ve done it so many times before.

Gina: That would mean we’ve been abducted more than I ever imagined. Not a happy thought. I don’t know. I don’t trust them.

Herald: Me either. But it’s nice to not have to go through this by myself this time.

Gina: It doesn’t matter; we won’t remember in the morning.

Herald: Maybe we will, if we concentrate. I’ve been reading about lucid dreaming. It’s all about awareness, retaining a sense of self, and noticing details, like the unusual color of your eyes.

Gina: This is not a dream. Would you like me to pinch you?

Herald: Because if it was a dream, you’d probably be a little nicer to me.

Gina: Sorry. I don’t mean to be cold, but this is so different from the other times I remember.

Herald: You can remember other times?

Gina: Only when I’m here in this room, not when I’m in the real world.

Herald: Good for you. If you can, I guess I can too but, honestly, what bits I recall make it pretty obvious that I don’t want to remember anything more. No, thank you. I hate this place.

Gina: Call me Gina.

Herald: I’m Herald. I’d tell you my last name, but I can’t think of it right now. Isn’t that funny? Maybe it’s the reverse of what you said. Maybe it’s a temporary side effect of whatever it is they do to us. The real world is so far away when we’re here that it’s almost dreamlike, at least for me.

Gina: Makes me want to go back to sleep, go back to “dreamland.”

Herald: Do you think you’re married or have kids? I don’t see a ring. Maybe I’m married. That would be cool.

Gina: I don’t think so.

Herald: No? Wait: you or me?

Gina: Either. I don’t want to think about it. I mean, if I’m married, and I don’t think I am, then I’d feel sad and angry that my husband could sleep right through the aliens taking me out of our bed and not realize I’m gone and then doubt me when I try to explain where I’ve been.

Herald: I’ve got a crazy idea. What if they’re using us to make better humans, with immunity to cancer and nuclear radiation and aging and stuff? What if we’re special?